


Solipsism’s Fool

by Duskscribe



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Dissociation, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskscribe/pseuds/Duskscribe
Summary: Set late Season 2, Will struggles with identity and desire.
Kudos: 5





	Solipsism’s Fool

Will knows the bare physical facts about himself. His name is Will Graham (not William Graham, as some might assume, and not a Jr. besides). He is 5’11 and pale, with light eyes, and skin that tends to burn more than tan. He is lean, with scars on his shoulders and scabs on his knuckles. His own history is laid out like a dossier - birth, schooling, jobs, romances, interests. Like reading the statistics of a tragedy or the blank outline of a war, barebones knowledge of barely real events. 

He knows his immediate surroundings. The time is 1:24am. He is in Wolf Trap, Virginia. He can see dust motes, the crooked window blinds, a crack in the ceiling, his desk, the dogs slumbering in their beds. He can feel the sheets beneath him, the cool air on his skin, the firmness of the mattress, the water bottle on his nightstand. He can hear crickets, beating hearts and breathing beasts. He smells rain and fur. He tastes stale whiskey. 

They’re all facts, undeniable, yet none seem to touch him. Fingernails digging half moon crescents into his palm seem like strangers’ hands. His reflection in the mirror hasn’t been his for a long time now, something lean and hungry in those unfamiliar eyes. 

Logically, he knows what he should want - or he knows what people tell him he should want. Justice. Love. Revenge. Hannibal, smiling no longer. Freedom.

The idea of packing up and leaving it all behind bears an indistinct temptation, but what would it change? He‘s Will Graham. People know he‘s Will Graham. And beyond that, why would a new place, a new name, make him any different from who he was? 

And maybe that’s the rub of it - how can he be someone else when he was never really himself? He was rude because the words came easy. Traumatized because he ought to be. But even the lingering threads of others in his mind seem out of reach now, leaving only mud on the carpet like rude houseguests. 

Everyone offers knowledge. Hannibal, and his blood slicked promises, Jack, and his shining ideals, each glittering lure promising the best outcome. 

He’s seen trout fall for better. 

Will registers the shock of cool wood beneath his feet before he realizes he’s rising. His body moves on autopilot - clothes on, dogs soothed - before disappearing into the night. It’s a new moon, with only an excess of stars and the distant glow of light pollution to the east. The air is heavy with the coming storm. His shirt sticks to his chest with every humid inhale, a sensation so shockingly real that he searches for more. 

Mud between his bare toes. The jab of a stick. The itch of a mosquito. 

His house isn’t lit, no more notions of ships out on darkened seas to guide him home. 

Will Graham follows the wayward trails of fireflies instead. Maybe they’ll lead him somewhere better.


End file.
